Twenty years ago this month, I moved to California from Texas. One of the places I slept along the way was a picnic table in the middle of Joshua Tree. I just drove in from the south at night and found an empty campsite, never running into a soul. I spread my mat and sleeping bag and stretched out on the cement table. So this was California!
Though it was a beautiful night with perfect weather, I didn’t sleep much. I was fixated by the amount of air traffic I could see crisscrossing above the dot of me down there on the desert. And I was a little scared of what I was doing. But sure I wanted to do this. And ready for anything. My active mode was seeking.
At morning’s mere light I jolted awake. A fluffy coyote pup, with its paws up on the tabletop, was staring right at me from a few feet away. I sat upright and it hopped down and backed away — watching me for a moment before trotting off and disappearing around the rock outcropping nearby. My heart was pounding, but I’d seen that puppy face so close up in the dark and it was gorgeous! I was a bit spooked, though. I rolled up and out to get on the road.
I drove through the golden dawn of Joshua Tree slowly. I wanted to see the giants in the early light, and they did not disappoint. No one was around. I would just stop my little Honda in the middle of the road and get out. I encountered two more coyotes that dawn that let me take their pictures. I haven’t found the picture of the other one yet, which is a better picture I think. It must be with the other pictures I took in the park that morning of the plants and desert. This one was more curious, and also suspicious of me: newcomer. I had a lot to learn, I would learn.
Ten bucks I think I paid to get out at the ranger booth, and I continued on across the desert and crossed over at Tehachapi before heading north. I took Highway 99 all the way to Sacramento because there were more towns that way in my paper atlas, and what I wanted was to see more, see the cultures. I wanted to see some of the farming part of California. How little I knew about what farming meant to California, and to the whole country! Or about the complexities of this land on its own. I didn’t understand yet what the coast really means. What the wilderness areas really mean. How vast the honeycomb of Los Angeles. How striking the view of Mount Shasta at dawn from the Coast Starlight. How lush the redwood forest groves of the north. How Monterey, Big Sur, Half Moon Bay, or — anywhere really — along the Coast Highway could instantly steal someone’s heart. How intimate the layer cake of San Francisco, and how cold the marine fogs in summer. How ruthless the fires and droughts. How rough the industries. How rough the alleys. How rich the hills of wine and film. How many homegrown and homemade meals have I eaten in the Sierra foothills from hand-formed dishes? How many memories? How artistic the streets of Sacramento, and how much the delta breeze helps, along with local music and/or a cold beer. And San Diego, now, how there is so much more to discover in this land of unequaled weather and secret gardens.
Twenty years with you, California. How bold this land. How hard we work to be accepting of change and growth. How old the paths and how worn. How swift the many rivers. How honored I am to be here still seeking, still alive, loved, safe, vaccinated, perched among the so many who have ended up here with me, on the ancestral lands of the Tolowa, Shasta, Karok, Yurok Hupa Whilikut, Chilula, Chimarike, Wiyot, Modoc, Achumawi, Atsugewi, Bear River, Mattale, Lassick, Nogatl, Wintun, Yana, Yahi, Maidu, Wintun, Sinkyone, Wailaki, Kato, Yuki, Pomo, Lake Miwok, Wappo, Coast Miwok, Interior Miwok, Monache, Yokuts, Costanoan, Esselen, Salinan, Tubatulabal, Chumash, Alliklik, Kitanemuk, Serrano, Gabrielino Luiseno Cahuilla, and the Kumeyaay. Thankful.
